


Chicken Soup For The (Inhuman) Soul

by tsiviaravina



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Characters Took Over Yet Again, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Please Don't Kill Me, Post Season 2, References to Illness, Sick Skye, Slight AU (I needed Simmons to be around), Team Feels, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsiviaravina/pseuds/tsiviaravina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jemma, I’m fine. DAMMIT! Would you warm that thing up once in a while?”<br/>“Skye, you’re calling me by my first name which never bodes well for your physical condition, and if the stethoscope feels that cold, you’re probably feverish as well. Now shush and breathe deep for me. I want to check on your respiratory system.”<br/>“There is nothing—“<br/>Skye’s protestation was cut off by a horrific cough that she just managed to catch on the inside of her elbow. She could see Simmons wince, then flush with anger.<br/>“Right. Nothing wrong with you,” Simmons said flatly. “Back! To! Bed!” she shouted at Skye, pointing in the general direction of the bunks.<br/>Skye shoved herself off the examining table mumbling something about being back on house arrest.<br/>“I heard that,” Simmons chirped brightly. “There are ways for that to be arranged.”</p>
<p>Did I mention that Skye hates admitting that she's sick?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Soup For The (Inhuman) Soul

**Author's Note:**

> This started off innocently enough and then the characters (whom I do not own) took over...again. Lots of fluff and feels, so if you don't want that, turn back now. This piece is sheer self-indulgence. I don't have a beta reader, so all inaccuracies, errors, and grammatical issues are mine and mine alone. For those who don't mind tooth-rotting fluff, etc.: enjoy!

“Jemma, I’m fine. DAMMIT! Would you warm that thing up once in a while?”

“Skye, you’re calling me by my first name which never bodes well for your physical condition, and if the stethoscope feels that cold, you’re probably feverish as well. Now shush and breathe deep for me. I want to check on your respiratory system.”

“There is nothing—“

Skye’s protestation was cut off by a horrific cough that she just managed to catch on the inside of her elbow. She could see Simmons wince, then flush with anger.

“Right. Nothing wrong with you,” Simmons said flatly. “Back! To! Bed!” she shouted at Skye, pointing in the general direction of the bunks.

Skye shoved herself off the examining table mumbling something about being back on house arrest.

“I heard that,” Simmons chirped brightly. “There are ways for that to be arranged.”

***

Skye hated being sick. She hated it more than anything. She especially hated being sick now, when there was so much that needed to be done. She grumbled to herself as she made her way to her bunk and slammed the door behind her.

She toed off her shoes and flung herself backwards on to the bed. Shit. She needed to call Lincoln—have him take over for a while if Dr. Simmons was going to be watching her every move for the next few days. She closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead, which was hot and dry. She had to admit that her joints ached and there was a throb in her temples. She closed her eyes for a minute.

She woke to the sound of someone knocking softly on her door. She checked her phone. Four hours? Where had four hours gone?

She felt worse than ever, but managed to shove herself upright to answer the door. Probably Simmons with more cold medical instruments and nasty-tasting medication…

She stared at Coulson, who was standing in her doorway. She hadn’t even known he was at the Playground. He was supposed to be on assignment…somewhere. Great. Her brain was turning into tapioca.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she managed to rasp out, her throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper.

“And you’re supposed to take better care of yourself,” he replied softly. “May I come in?”

“Oh. Yeah. Come on in. Sorry about the mess,” she managed to say before falling headlong into a coughing fit.

Coulson frowned. “Sit,” he commanded, pointing to the bed. She gave up. She was too exhausted to argue with him.

She watched warily as Coulson approached her. He had a med kit with him.

He took out a thermometer. After sliding a cover over the thermometer, he held it out to her. She sighed, turned it on, and put it in her mouth.

When it beeped, Coulson pulled it out of her mouth before she had a chance to grab it, looked at it, and frowned at her again. “What did I do?” she croaked.

“Managed to work yourself up from what was probably a light cold into what Simmons has told me is a fairly serious upper respiratory and sinus infection,” he replied, the quiet tone in his voice making her wrap her arms defensively around herself. Then she was hit with a full-body shiver that set her teeth chattering.

***

He had gotten Lincoln’s phone call yesterday. The younger man had been frustrated, exasperated, and furious by turns, pleading with Coulson to tie her to a bed if necessary since she wouldn’t listen to him. That was why Coulson had ordered Skye back to the Playground with a request for a full physical evaluation. He had heard Simmons’ shouting all the way back in his office and couldn’t stop the small smile that played around his lips. When Simmons was pissed at you for neglecting your health, she didn’t give a damn what powers you might possess, administrative or otherwise. Afterwards, however, he had to contend with a raging Simmons, whose rage was only increased by her concerns regarding Skye’s Inhuman biology.

“I mean it, sir! Does she honestly think that since she went through this…transition that she’ll never be ill again?” Simmons had ended her rant by asking that question, throwing her hands up in the air and collapsing in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Simmons had looked at him, on the verge of tears. “I’ve already spoken to Lincoln—we _cannot_ let her keep doing this to herself. She _has_ to learn that she _still_ has limitations, physical and otherwise. Lincoln says she’s not eating right, that she’s falling asleep at her desk more often than not, and that she stashes Red Bull and Twizzlers on their quinjet if she needs a ‘snack’ when they’re on mission.” Simmons’ nose wrinkled at the last revelation, one which made him want to smile all over again, but he forced himself to maintain a calm façade. “Do you think we should have her hash this issue out with Dr. Garner?” Simmons asked.

He stood up and placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on Simmons’ shoulder. “I don’t want to disturb Andrew and May right now—I owe them that.” The scientist had slumped in her chair. “But don’t worry, Jemma,” he continued. “I think I can still handle Skye. I’ll need a little bit of help, though.”

Simmons didn’t disappoint. She smiled up at him and said brightly, “Thank you, sir! What’s the plan?”

Simmons had said that Skye had come to the Playground with minimal toiletries and inadequate clothing for the length of her stay and the weather, which was a nasty mix of freezing rain and sleet. He had murmured a few instructions and handed Simmons a credit card as if he was Tony Stark himself. She raised an eyebrow and covered her hand with her mouth to muffle her laughter. “Pablo Jimenez, Coulson? Really?” she asked, before walking out of his office.

***

If there was one thing Skye hated more than being sick, it was when Coulson turned his “stern-yet-disappointed” face her way. Which he was doing right now. But then he did something that made her think she was hallucinating. He pulled out a radio, turned it on, and said in a stern voice, “Simmons was right. It’s worse than we thought. I’m activating the Hippocratic Protocol on Agent Skye.” Then he just stood there and _looked_ at her again. Oh, dear God, Skye thought to herself as she tried to swallow and failed. I poked the bear. The big, scary, guilt-inducing bear.

She decided to go on the offensive. “Okay, fine. What the hell is the Hippocratic Protocol?” she demanded, then winced at the sound of her own voice.

Coulson shot her a glare as someone began knocking on the door to her bunk. He glared at her a final time before opening it. Standing there, with expressions from irritation to humor to concern flitting across their faces were FitzSimmons, Bobbi, Hunter, and Mack. “This,” Coulson said, pointing at the row of people she considered not only friends but family, “This is Hippocratic Protocol. If you’re not going to care enough about the people around you to take better care of yourself, this is what will happen every time you sneeze, cough, or wheeze in a way that concerns Lincoln, Jemma, or myself. For now, I’ll leave you at their mercy,” he said, his voice still soft, but deadly. “For now,” he repeated.

The rest parted so he could make his way out of the room. Skye felt the guilt hit her gut like a roundhouse punch. “Look, guys, I’m sorry I let this get out of hand—“she tried to begin.

To her surprise, it was Hunter who stepped forward. “I didn’t understand what you just said, and I really could give a rat’s arse about what you think right now. But for the next while, you’re going to be listening to us, and doing exactly what we say. Right, Mack?”

Mack simply folded his immense arms over his immense chest and nodded, scowling at her.

Bobbi stepped forward, a brace still enveloping her bad knee, and yanked Skye roughly off the bed. “Okay, everyone knows what they’re supposed to do. So let’s do it.” Skye managed a small yelp of protest, which only resulted in Bobbi sighing and heaving Skye over her much taller shoulder. She couldn’t see anything but Bobbi’s back and was far too disoriented to figure out where they were going, until they reached the common bathroom.

Bobbi finally put her down, and ended up holding Skye tight to her side so the smaller woman wouldn’t simply crumple to the ground. “Let’s get that cough syrup into her, Jemma,” Skye heard Bobbi say. “She can barely say a word as it is.”

The next thing she heard was Jemma’s softest voice, saying, “Come on, Skye, drink this up…there’s a girl.” The syrup was sweet with honey and the cool hand on her forehead and the warmer one stroking her hair was sweeter. She sighed and snuggled closer into Bobbi’s side.

Jemma and Bobbi coaxed her into taking some Advil, promising it would help the fever. Bobbi scooped her up again, much gentler this time, and set her on her feet near one of the bathtubs that was filled with slightly steaming water. Skye watched curiously as Jemma poured something from a small, brown bottle into the bathwater. She didn’t bother trying to talk; she just looked at Jemma and pointed to the bottle.

Jemma finally smiled at her. “It’s a blend of essential oils that will help. Mainly Eucalyptus and Tea Tree, but also some Orange, Bergamot, and Gingergrass. Now, into the bath with you.”

Any S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who came down the pike left all body shyness behind with their first injury tended to in the field and Skye was no exception, but she was clinging to Bobbi’s warmth like a capuchin and whimpered at the idea of having to let go. Bobbi chuckled and managed to extricate herself. She and Jemma helped Skye out of her T-shirt, jeans, and underthings, and somehow managed to get Skye into the tub with minimal fuss.

The cast-iron tub, which had been white and utilitarian, had been decorated with small yellow ducklings to keep Skye from slipping and a bath pillow that allowed her to rest her head comfortably against the edge of the tub. Skye looked at them both, swallowing back tears as she inhaled the fragrant steam coming off her bathwater. “Thank you,” she managed to say.

Jemma knelt beside the tub and cupped Skye’s cheek in her palm. “We all care about you Skye,” she said softly. “We just want you to take care of yourself. We worry when you work yourself sick as much as when you’re hurt on mission.” Jemma carefully wiped away the few tears that had escaped down Skye’s face. “I’m going to get you something hot to drink. Bobbi will help you with the rest of your bath.”

Bobbi grinned lasciviously at Skye, which just made the smaller woman cough out a laugh. Bobbi handed her a bath puff that was nice and foamy with body wash. “Eucalyptus and Lavender,” Bobbi commented as Skye held it to her nose, surprised she could smell anything. “Wash as much as you can and I’ll do your back and your hair.”

Skye nodded and did as ordered. She purred when Bobbi’s hands hit her scalp, rubbing away the last of the headache. Bobbi’s answer was to chuckle, help her rinse off, wrap her in a towel, and lift her out of the tub.

To her immense surprise, Skye saw a pile of fleecy material on the bench behind her. She carefully walked over to it and saw that it was a nightshirt, robe, and slippers. Bobbi helped her finish drying off, tossed the towel to one side and picked up the nightshirt. “Arms up,” she commanded, and Skye complied. Then Bobbi wrapped her in the robe and had her sit down on the bench so she could put on the slippers. Skye couldn’t help but notice that everything matched: a light blue background scattered with little yellow stars and crescent moons. She felt clean and warm and pleasantly drowsy as she watched Bobbi put all her new toiletries in a white mesh bucket with “Tremors” spelled out on it in large black block print. She smiled and pointed. “Mack?” she whispered to Bobbi.

Bobbi laughed and nodded. She finished gathering everything up and rinsing out the tub and sat next to Skye, wrapping an arm around her to keep her warm. Soon Jemma appeared again with a mug in her hand. “A nice Hot Toddy from Fitz,” she said, smiling, “with real Scottish whiskey. His mother’s cure-all.” Skye’s eyes went wide when she took the first sip, but to Bobbi and Jemma’s amusement, Skye refused to return the mug until it was empty. Then Jemma was pressing another mug on her that was apparently filled with chicken broth. Somehow, that tasted just as good and she finished that mug quickly as well.

Bobbi looked at Jemma. “How are the boys doing in her room? Did they at least change the sheets and blankets on the bed so we can get her butt back in it?”

Jemma sighed. “I had to put Mack in charge of the laundry since Fitz is uncomfortable handling ‘ladies’ things’ and all Hunter was doing was commenting on the sorry state of Skye’s underclothes.”

“Hey!” Skye attempted to protest, but all she got was a finger in her face for her pains.

“If you had taken some time to do laundry or pack some reasonable clothing, there would be no reason for Hunter to have seen your underthings. We’re making sure you have clean clothes. I promised Mack that I would tend to the ‘lady bits’ if he and Fitz made the bed,” Jemma commented.

Bobbi felt the smaller woman shaking slightly against her side. She tilted Skye’s head up; yep, she was crying again. Jemma simply sighed softly and handed Skye a box of Kleenex. After she had wiped her face and blown her nose, Skye noticed they were the soft, anti-viral kind that were supposed to kill off bacteria and viruses. For some reason, that really set her off. She was a total physical mess, all of which was her own fault, and instead of sticking her in a gurney in the medical bay, Coulson and her friends had arranged to take care of her down to the last detail, which apparently included anti-fucking-viral tissues that wouldn’t scratch her nose.

Somewhere between coughing and sobbing, she felt Bobbi’s other arm pulling her carefully into her lap. Skye was careful to keep wiping her face and her nose so nothing got on her brand new robe or onto Bobbi or Jemma, who was now sitting where Skye had been a moment ago, stroking Skye’s hair.

Bobbi rocked her back and forth for a little bit, looking pensively off into the distance.

“Skye, why are you afraid of being sick?” Bobbi asked suddenly, looking down at the other woman.

“Why am I—I don’t get it,” Skye whimpered, a bit on the confused side.

“Afraid—that’s it! That’s it exactly!” Jemma said, smiling happily at Bobbi. “Skye,” she said in a much softer tone, “the way you react to being ill is very much as if you are fleeing from something you fear. You stop eating right, you stop getting adequate rest—it’s as if you are forbidding your body from being sick, as if you’re in a war zone or on mission and don’t have time to be ill—“ Simmons stopped and inhaled sharply, her eyes meeting Bobbi’s.

Skye had pushed her face back into Bobbi’s side. She hadn’t wanted anyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. to know about this weird— _thing_ —she had with being sick. But when Bobbi murmured softly into her ear, “Skye, it’s okay to be sick here, to let down your guard here. Did…something happen at St. Agnes or at a foster home, when you were still in the system? Did something happen while you were sick that’s keeping you scared?”

Skye could only tremble and nod her head. The sensory memories were amplified by time, and she could hear Sister McKenna’s shouts, smell her own vomit, feel the scratchiness of institutionally washed clothing, and taste the shame of her own tears.

She _so_ didn’t want to go back there. She _so_ didn’t want to talk about it. And thankfully, Bobbi and Jemma weren’t pressing for details. They were just… _there_ and Bobbi was rocking her and Jemma was rubbing her back in soft circles. She finally stopped trembling and her breathing evened out. “I just…” she started to say. “I hate…being left alone. Forgotten about.” _Abandoned_. The one word she would never say.

Bobbi and Jemma shared a long look. Then Bobbi pressed a soft kiss to the top of Skye’s head. “No one’s going to leave you alone, or forget about you, sweetie. I promise. Now let’s dry your hair and get you back into bed.”

Bobbi led a shaky, but clean Skye back to her bunk, with Jemma following with their basket of supplies.

Skye’s mouth dropped open when they got to her door. All the laundry that had been on various surfaces was gone. All the papers and files had been placed in one neat pile on her desk, and—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—had the boys actually _vacuumed_ the carpet?

“Oh my God!” she squeaked out in surprise as she saw the other changes the guys had made to her room. Her bed wasn’t in the middle of the floor anymore—it was tucked into what was now a cozy little corner with a nightstand and a lamp. There were shelves with her phone, tablet, and what looked like actual books. And the bedclothes were no longer standard S.H.I.E.L.D. issue; she could see a yellow and blue comforter speckled with daisies, definitely more pillows than she was used to covered in yellow and light blue pillowcases, a daisy-shaped pillow, and a bedside rug made of interlocking daisies. Yeah, they had gone a little nuts with the name association, but now she was crying again and couldn’t stop to tell them how much it meant to her.

She heard nothing for a moment but her own harsh sobs, and then Hunter, God bless him, called out, “Group hug!” and they were all around her, hugging and snuggling and petting until Hunter started tickling her and she tried to cuss him out but ended up coughing instead and Mack slapped him on the back of the head. Then she was coughing and giggling while Bobbi and Jemma got her tucked into soft, smooth, clean sheets. Jemma gave her the tissues again and damn if there wasn’t a small wastebasket next to her bed where she could toss all the used tissues. And the tissue box matched the sheets.

Then Fitz was standing beside her bed, looking a bit red in the face as he slowly handed her a stuffed-in-all-the-right-places Pooh Bear. “He’ll keep you company,” he said carefully. “And it’s not that Disney crap, either—he’s the real thing. He even came with a book,” he said, handing it to her.

Sitting forward, she pulled him down into a hug. She couldn’t say anything or she’d lose it again.

Then Hunter nudged Fitz out of the way to tuck a sinfully soft blue throw around her shoulders, Mack showed her how he had programmed the remote since he had attached her laptop to the television so she could watch movies from bed, Jemma plugged in an essential oil diffuser, filling the room with the scents of lavender and oranges, and Bobbi set out a couple of bottles of water on her nightstand.

Skye’s eyes were getting heavy, and Jemma had made her take another dose of the cough syrup along with some antibiotics and a half-bottle of water. “You should be all right for another few hours. Now we’re going to leave and let you get some rest while you enjoy your new room,” Jemma said, gently nudging all but Bobbi out of the room. Hunter looked ready to protest until Jemma smacked him on the back of the head again.

When the door closed behind them, Bobbi made sure Skye was warm and comfortable, and popped _Top Gun_ into the laptop. She turned it down low and watched as Skye quickly fell asleep, one hand clutching her new blue blanket, and the other arm wrapped around the stuffed bear.

Bobbi smiled to herself as she turned off the television and soundlessly moved Skye’s desk chair next to the bed. She let her gaze roam over the titles of the books they had purchased and settled on _Little Women_ to keep her company for a few hours.

Bobbi had gotten about a chapter in when she realized something was wrong. Skye was starting to toss and turn, her forehead beaded with sweat. “No…Mom…don’t…” Skye whispered harshly in her sleep.

Bobbi put the book aside and knelt down by Skye’s side. “Skye, come on, sweetie, wake up.” She gently stroked Skye’s hair out of her face. “Come on, Skye, you’re having a nightmare.” Skye’s eyes opened, her pupils blown, and Bobbi suddenly realized that she could feel the softest beginnings of tremors beneath her knees.

Bobbi focused in on Skye. “There you are,” she said softly. “You all the way back, now?” Skye nodded. “Here,” Bobbi said, handing a bottle of water to Skye. “Let’s sit you up so you can drink this, okay?” Skye nodded again, her eyes never leaving Bobbi’s face.

Bobbi propped Skye up on her pillows and used a tissue to pat the sweat from the younger woman’s forehead as Skye slowly drank down the bottle of water. “Do you want me to put another movie in?” she asked Skye.

Skye shook her head and looked at the book on her nightstand. “Read to me?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Bobbi smiled. “Sure. Just let me get settled…” Bobbi took out a bottle of water for herself from the cooler at her feet and turned back to the beginning of the book. She took a quick look at Skye who looked all of five years old, her dark eyes large in her pale face.

Bobbi took a swallow from her water bottle and began to read aloud. “ _Little Women_ , Chapter One: _Playing Pilgrims_. ‘Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,’ grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. ‘It’s so dreadful to be poor!’ sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress…”

***

Bobbi had only made it about five pages in when she realized that Skye had fallen asleep again. She put the book down and rubbed her eyes. She was thinking about catching a nap herself in the chair when she heard a soft knock on the door.

It was Coulson.

“Come on in,” Bobbi whispered to him. “She had a bad dream, but she’s been okay for the past half-hour or so.”

Bobbi felt for the man as she watched the emotions play across his face. He was the Director; Skye was seen as his protégé by some or his Achilles’ heel by others. But damn, the two of them had it bad for each other.

He walked over to the bed, reached out with his right hand, and gently stroked her cheek. Skye sighed in her sleep, nuzzling into the touch.

Coulson turned around to face Bobbi. “You guys did an amazing job. Thank you,” he whispered.

Bobbi’s eyes twinkled knowingly at him. “Hey, thank Pablo Jimenez,” she whispered back. “All we did was spend his money.” She yawned and stretched. “If you don’t mind taking over for a bit, sir, I think I’m going to take a nap before the next catastrophe hits.”

Coulson smiled at her. “Go get some rest, Bobbi. I’ll call someone else to stay with her when I get tired.”

“So you know she’s scared of being left alone when she’s sick?”

Coulson looked back at Skye. “She never told me, but I always knew.”

“You know where to find us if you need us,” Bobbi said, and slipped out of the room.

Hunter was waiting in their bunk with a good winter lager in a cooler and a bottle of massage oil warming in a beaker of hot water. She smiled at him, then hugged him and held on tight.

Hunter didn’t always understand Bobbi—hell, ninety percent of the time he was damned sure he didn’t understand her, but he knew when she was feeling vulnerable. It wasn’t often that she let him see it, but after the torture, the mangled knee, and taking the bullet that was meant for him, she was letting him in a little more every day. So he didn’t say a word. He just stroked her hair and held her tight as she wept into his shoulder as if her heart was breaking.

***

Skye slowly came back to consciousness. The only light in the room was from the small lamp on her nightstand. She was so warm, she felt completely boneless. However, she was also slowly realizing that she had a dangerously full bladder.

Skye turned her head to the side, expecting to see Bobbi napping in the chair next to her bed. She wasn’t really surprised to see Coulson there instead.

She took a swallow of water, then tried out her voice. “Hey,” was all she managed to get out, but Coulson immediately opened his eyes and sat up.

He smiled softly at her, no guilt-inducing glare present. “Hey,” he replied. “How’re you doing?”

“Much better, physically,” she said, “but I have the feeling that the guilt is gonna hang around for a while.”

Coulson sat forward, his hand finding hers. “Nope. No guilt, no self-flagellation of any kind allowed.”

“But—“ Skye tried.

Coulson placed a finger on her lips, still smiling at her. “I have it on very good authority that you expressed your feelings so well that Hunter had to initiate a ‘Group Hug’ to calm you down.”

She looked down at their joined hands, smiling and blushing at the same time. “I hear that I also need to thank Pablo Jimenez.”

She heard Coulson chuckle. “No one’s gonna let that go, are they?”

Her eyes twinkled as she looked at him. “Not a chance, A.C.”

She reluctantly let go of his hand and began to ease herself out of bed. “Sorry,” she said. “My bladder is at max capacity right now.”

He extended his hand again to help her up. “I have strict orders to walk you there and then make sure you get right back in bed.”

She nodded as she swayed a bit on her feet. “No arguments here.”

So he helped her get to the bathroom and back and then tucked her back into her now wonderful-to-be-sick-in bed. She took some more cough syrup, another dose of antibiotics, and had another bottle of water, all at Coulson’s gentle encouragement.

Skye spotted the small pile of folders on the floor. “Planning on doing some light reading?” she teased him.

“Just in case you fall asleep again,” he teased back. She laughed through a yawn.

“Okay,” Coulson said. “One of your horrible choices in movies, or a story?”

“Story,” she answered immediately. “Pick anything you like,” she laughed, indicating the bookshelf. “I don’t even know what they got for me.”

“Looks like they raided the children’s section at _Barnes & Noble_,” he muttered, earning another chuckle from Skye. He smiled as he plucked _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ from the shelf. “Do you know I never had a chance to read these?”

Skye looked at him as if he had suddenly turned as blue as a Kree. “You _have_ to be joking, Coulson.”

He solemnly held up his hand. “Scout’s Honor,” he replied.

“Those books are, like… _gold_ in every place that warehouses kids in the system,” she said, blushing again.

 “Well, now I have a great reason to read them,” Coulson said to her. “Plus, it has to be better than watching _Pitch Perfect_ again,” he muttered. She stuck her tongue out at him.

She watched curiously as he removed his tie and hung it up with his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, unbuttoned another button, and took off his shoes. He smiled at her and said, “Move over a bit.”

“You’re the boss, A.C.,” she said, and left two pillows for him to lean against. Good thing she had a full-sized bed.

He finally came over to the side of the bed and carefully tucked her in, making sure she had her new Pooh-Bear and the blue blanket from Hunter. Then he settled down in the space she had made for him, adjusting the pillows behind his head.

“Okay,” he said. “Come here,” he said, and beckoned her over to him with his right arm.

She slipped under his arm and was able to rest her head on his chest, which was nice and warm. She could still smell his aftershave. “What’s all this for?” she asked, too curious to keep quiet anymore.

Coulson smiled down at her and said, “My father read to me every night. This is how you read to someone who happens to be stuck in bed.”

She smiled a small, shy smile, but cuddled deeper into his side. “Oh,” she replied quietly. “Okay. If you say so.”

He smiled again and opened the book in one fluid motion with his prosthetic hand and, finding the first page, began to read softly but clearly:

“ _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_. Chapter One: _The Boy Who Lived_. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

***

Early the next morning, FitzSimmons were companionably arguing in whispers about whose turn it was to stay with Skye as they walked down the hall, both still in pajamas and matching sets of Monty Python bunny slippers. When they got to Skye’s room, they quieted down and Fitz pressed an ear to the door.

“She must be dead asleep. I can’t hear a thing,” he whispered to Simmons.

“Then let me just pop in and leave her medication with whoever is with her…” she whispered, and carefully opened the door.

The small lamp on the nightstand cast a warm, golden glow over Coulson and Skye, both sleeping peacefully, Skye snuggled into the Director’s chest and Coulson’s arms wrapped tight around her, his nose buried in her hair, a book splayed across his legs, forgotten.

Jemma smiled, walked over to the nightstand, and left the paper cup of pills on the table. Then she closed Fitz’s mouth with one finger and dragged him out of the room, closing the door silently behind them.

She grinned. She couldn’t _wait_ to tell Bobbi.


End file.
